


The Mistletoe Branch

by ProseApothecary



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Christmas Fluff, M/M, Romantic Gestures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-15 11:30:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16932465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProseApothecary/pseuds/ProseApothecary
Summary: David's wishlist lasts all year round.





	The Mistletoe Branch

Patrick picks up a stray bottle from the shop counter. “Seriously? Why would someone leave _body milk_ among the _beanies_? It’s like they actively hate order.”

Stevie looks between Patrick and David, sitting next to her. “Ok, either we just started experiencing a _Freaky Friday_ -style body swap, or couples really do grow into each other.”

Patrick mimes horror at the thought while David is preoccupied with pouring himself another glass of wine.

“I’d be Lindsay,” he declares, after taking a sip of Chardonnay. “You’d be Jamie Lee Curtis.”

“I’m ok with that,” says Patrick “My acting career lasted longer than yours.”

David’s eyes blaze as he opens his mouth to speak.

“Please,” interrupts Stevie, “I can’t listen to another lecture about Lindsay Lohan today. Can we talk about literally anything else?”

“Oh, here’s something fun,” says David, “my suede jacket got destroyed last week, so there’s that.”

“Changed my mind,” says Stevie, “back to Lindsay.”

“I mean, I could’ve told you not to wear suede to a picnic,” Patrick says.

“ _Did_ you though?” David asks.

“…Can I at least get brownie points for holding a picnic blanket over you while it rained for half an hour?”

At that, David gets a somewhat daydreamy look on his face. “Maybe.”

“…Should I go?” asks Stevie, “are you planning on crossing more items off the list tonight?”

David gives her a look.

“What list?” asks a confused Patrick.

“He doesn’t know about the list?”

“Ok, it’s barely even a thing-”

“David has this list of gestures, you know, cliched things he’d like his partners to do. I guess it’s like, a compulsion you contract when you watch too many romcoms. Anyway, picnicking is one. Chocolates and roses are another, but I mean, I think a heart-shaped chocolate chip cookie supersedes that. And I’m pretty sure one of them is just _being_ Hugh Grant. Which might be difficult for you. So that leaves three.”

“There are only six gestures?”

“David experienced his first and last moment of realism and cut it down after coming to Schitt’s Creek.”

“No more Eiffel Tower, Empire State Building, or personalised sky-writing,” says David, with an air of great sacrifice.

“Huh,” says Patrick, “well I can’t think of anything more romantic than a realistic plan for unspontaneous gestures.”

“Well it _would’ve_ been spontaneous if you didn’t know about the list.”

“No chance you’re going to tell me what the last three are, then?”

“None.”

“You’re saying I have to guess.”

“I’m really not. In fact, feel free to forget this conversation ever happened.”

 

Patrick doesn’t forget.

 

He decides to start with a classic – kissing in the rain. Unfortunately, Patrick is cursed with constant preparedness, and keeps forgetting to forget an umbrella. One day, walking to the store together in bucketing rain, he decides enough is enough, puts the umbrella away, lays a hand on David’s cheek and pulls him into a kiss.

“Do you have a vendetta against my hair or something?” David asks, sheltering it with one hand.

So maybe it isn’t on the list. But David’s fingers are still curled into Patrick’s rapidly dampening shirt, so Patrick is fairly certain that he doesn’t really mind.

 

The next attempt takes advantage of David’s overly long lunch break. Patrick insists that he’ll stay at the store to continue unpacking stock, then spends the hour lighting candles.

“Wow,” says David when he comes back. “This is very impressive. Are we…are we insured for this?”

“…Good point,” says Patrick, rapidly blowing out candles.

 

Patrick saves the next gesture for David’s birthday. He puts all of David’s whining to good use, sourcing everything David’s complained about not being able to get in Schitt’s Creek. Caviar, pâté, duck. And a kale smoothie, perfectly mismatched to get a rise out of David.

David may eye the smoothie suspiciously, but he can’t hide how delighted he is with the rest.

“Dessert is cooking.” Patrick says, “remind me to check on it in 5 minutes.”

“Ooh,” says David, going over to the oven to have a peek.

“Don’t open-”

David witnesses a Bombe Alaska avalanche.

“-the oven door.”

“Sorry,” whispers a sheepish David.

“…On second thought, three courses is kinda excessive.”

“I did eat four sandwiches for lunch because Stevie wasn’t hungry so…might be for the best?”

 

The dinner may not have gone perfectly, but Patrick’s pretty sure he’s struck gold with the next one.

“ _How?_ ” asks David, lying in bed, staring at Mariah Carey’s Twitter shoutout to “her favourite fan, David Rose.”

“I _may_ have had to tell her agency that you were a 13-year-old boy struggling with his sexuality.”

“My conscience is totally ok with that.”

“I thought it might be,” says Patrick, as he’s pulled on top of David.

 

While the response to Mariah’s message had been _very_ positive, apparently Patrick still hasn’t ticked off any gestures. He’s somewhat stuck for ideas. He briefly considers playing Tina Turner from a boombox outside their apartment before deciding that David would probably file a noise complaint. Luckily, Christmas is coming up, and David is not quite as much of a grinch as he lets on.

 

David certainly seems to appreciate the place being decked out in fairy lights, but he doesn’t mention anything about mistletoe being on the list. Even if they end up kissing under it until they hear increasingly impatient knocks coming from the door.

Stevie looks unimpressed when Patrick lets her in.

“Sorry,” he says, “we couldn’t hear you over Mariah’s Christmas album.”

“Uh-huh,” says Stevie, looking at the slightly breathless David leaning against the wall and the mistletoe above him with increasing resignation. “Good to know you guys are keeping it classy.”

“Always,” says David.

“Do you want a drink?” asks Patrick, pushing his sleeves up as he gets some glassware from the cupboard.

“…Why do you have a rash?” Stevie asks.

Patrick looks down at his arms, which are now slightly red.

She thinks for a second. “You know some people react to mistletoe…”

 

Half an hour later, David’s curled into Patrick’s side, engrossed in _The Muppet Christmas Carol_ while Patrick rests his hands in a bowl of ice water.

“At least you crossed it off the list,” Stevie says off-handedly.

Patrick turns to stare at David.

“More drinks anyone?”

“ _David_.”

“Look,” says David, “I never said it _wasn’t_ on the list.”

“Uh-huh,” says Patrick, “and was anything else not _not_ on the list?”

“Bright side,” says David, “you know me _very_ well.”

“Oh my God,” says Patrick, “unbelievable.”

“So…Patrick’s three for three?” asks Stevie.

“Technically five for five now. I actually added some things to the list _after_ he’d done them.”

Patrick is rapidly coming up with his own list of gestures that he _really_ wants to share with David. Too bad his hands are stuck in ice-water.

 

Patrick comes into the kitchen the next morning to find David, up uncharacteristically early, surrounded by dozens of candles.

“Morning,” he says with the forced chirpiness of a man who would rather be asleep.

Patrick walks over to the oven. “Is that…?”

“Bombe Alaska, yes.”

It looks a bit like slush. Still, Patrick gives him points for effort. “And we’re having this as part of a… candlelit breakfast?”

“Uh-huh. Something for every gesture I ruined.” He picks up a watering can from the sink.

It takes Patrick a second to realise what it’s for. “I don’t need a kiss in the rain. Really.”

“Ok,” says David, putting down the watering can with some relief.

 

They sit down to eat their Bombe Alaska, which, surprisingly, tastes pretty good.

“Oh, says David, “I did also try to call in a favour with some old contacts to get Bobby Orr to wish you a Merry Christmas.”

Patrick puts down his spoon. “And?”

“And as soon as I let on that I thought he played baseball, he kinda lost all interest. Wrote some furious messages to the both of us.”

“Oh.” Patrick looks slightly crestfallen.

“Kidding,” says David, sliding his phone over to Patrick. “You took that really well though.”

Patrick stares at the message. “Oh my God.”

“So,” says David, “seeing as I got you the best Christmas present you’re ever gonna get-”

“I mean, technically it’s Boxing Day...”

“-And since this is the season of love and _forgiveness…_ ” David takes some mistletoe from his pocket, holds it over his head and looks pleadingly at Patrick.

Patrick glances at the mistletoe and scoots his chair backward.

“This one is plastic. That I bought from a Walmart at 3 am.”

“You entered a Walmart? I guess Christmas truly is about making sacrifices.”

“Boxing Day,” David echoes, “ _technically_.”

Patrick leans in and kisses David.

“Merry Boxing Day.”


End file.
